Lumberjack John

Chapter 1

Long Lake, WI

October

Frankie held up her phone. “Well, I”ve finally made it. The trip was abysmal and I’m absolutely knackered.” She scanned the small room she”d booked at the local inn, her nose wrinkling at the dated décor. But the sturdy wood furniture and ancient armoire held a polished shine. And she was fairly certain she could run a white-gloved finger across any surface and it would come away clean. The owner clearly took pride in her establishment and Frankie wondered idly how long it had been a hotel. ”It”s not much, but it”ll be fine for the week.”

”Oh, that”s fabulous! I have so many questions.”

Frankie rolled her eyes. Of course her boss and best friend, Sharon Higgins, would ignore the part about the horrific connecting flights or that Frankie was utterly exhausted. The woman could wax on and on about minute details of the most asinine things when she was excited about a topic. And Sharon was definitely excited about Wisconsin. She was the Executive Director of the British Arborist Society and a devoted single mother. This visit to the United States was one she had desperately wanted to make herself, but family obligations did not permit it. She was not happy about that and made sure everyone knew.

Thus, Frankie, who was gloriously single and unencumbered, had been recruited to make the trip in Sharon”s stead. It didn’t hurt that Frankie had special ties to this area of Wisconsin, a connection she believed would help her in her mission to win Mr. Robbins to their cause.

”Is it as rustic as we imagined?” Sharon peppered her with questions. ”What”s the weather like? Is the sun shining? Is it warm? Are the men gorgeous? Tell me everything!”

Frankie chuckled, tucking her cell phone into her shoulder as she unpacked her suitcase. ”Well, the inn is rather rustic and quaint.” Her gaze landed on a wood carving of a bear standing guard near the door. ”The weather is definitely not warm because it”s late October. It”s a bit chilly and breezy today, but the sun is shining through the clouds as we speak.” She opened the blinds, letting in the light. ”And I have no idea about the men.”

“Pfft!” Sharon huffed, signaling her impatience. ”How could you have no idea? Do you not have eyes in your head, girl?” she griped. ”Please do not forget that I am living vicariously through you. It is your responsibility to be as flamboyant, flirtatious, and ridiculous as possible. And then report back to me, in detail.” She enunciated the last two words.

Frankie snorted. ”That is where you are wrong, Mizz Higgins. My responsibility is to learn what it is that makes this section of Wisconsin so incredibly successful at reforestation and to enlist Mr. Robbins in our efforts, remember? It does not include picking up studs from seedy bars or seducing unsuspecting men from the local lakes. Which, if I”m being honest, sounds incredibly dangerous. I”ve heard Yanks can be absolutely unpredictable and beastly.”

”Ohhh! Studs in a seedy American bar? Seducing multiple men?! Yes, please!” Sharon’s tone was completely serious. ”Not all at once, mind you. But you could easily fit in two or three steamy liaisons before you return home. Promise me you”ll do that and then give me all the salacious details, particularly if those men are especially beastly.”

”For the love of… Sharon, is that all you think about?”

”Darling, when you have a wanker of an ex-husband who originated from the eighth circle of hell, and a thirteen-year-old boy who refuses to pick up his shatted underwear and crusty tube socks from his bedroom floor, then maybe you’ll understand,” Sharon snarked. ”Until then, you will provide me with all your shady escapades, and I will hear nothing else about it.”

Frankie poked her head into the bathroom, relieved to find a pristine bathtub and toilet. ”My room is spotless. That is such a relief. Oh, another thing: it is very colorful here, so many greens, yellows, oranges, reds. The innkeeper said I”ve arrived just past the peak of their fall foliage. The trees are like a beautiful floral bouquet. You would love it. In fact, I haven”t seen vegetation like this since we visited British Columbia several years ago.”

”Oh, yes, that trip. I did enjoy it. Those Canadian men were terribly flirty and their shoulders so broad, asses so tight.” Sharon sighed. ”So, what is your first order of business?”

”Track down Mr. Robbins immediately and request a tour of the area. I have so many questions for him. There is an abundance of tree species here. Several I”ve never seen before. It”s fascinating, actually, given that the entire area was decimated by fire one hundred and fifty years ago. It gives me hope that with hard work and some of Mr. Robbins’ knowledge, we can lay the foundation for something similar at home.”

”It”s midday there, yes? That should give you plenty of time to track the rascal down. I do hope he”s attractive.”

Frankie rolled her eyes. ”Sharon, you are outrageous. I have no intention of getting involved with anyone here, especially Mr. Robbins. Besides, he”s probably married and old, maybe a hunchback with gout and a wart on his nose or something nearly as hideous.”

”Well, that sounds charming,” Sharon remarked dryly. ”Just get out there and enjoy yourself for a change. You spend too much time alone as it is. But please, love, do not embarrass us. Remember your manners and be pleasant and persuasive. Having Mr. Robbins on our side would be a game changer for the Society.”

”Mmmhmmm. I”ll be all those things.” Frankie pulled a weathered red leather journal from her backpack. ”I also have my secret weapon,” she muttered softly.

”What was that, love?” Sharon asked.

Frankie rubbed a thumb lovingly over the worn cover. ”Oh, nothing. Just talking to myself. We”ll talk soon. Give Isaac my love. Cheers.” She ended the call with the tap of her finger and tossed the phone on the bed, then stashed the journal back in her backpack.

Walking to the bathroom sink, she splashed cold water on her face and blotted it dry, then refreshed her light makeup and ran a brush through her thick chestnut tresses. It wouldn”t hurt to look her best for the decrepit Mr. Robbins, or anyone else she might run into in town. You never got a second chance to make a first impression, her grandmother had always said. Plus as Sharon rightly pointed out, she was representing the Society and needed to conduct herself accordingly.

She blew a kiss to herself, then grabbed her backpack and practically skipped down to the inn”s front room, feeling a rush of energy. A smiling Mrs. Owens greeted her from behind the small front desk. The friendly innkeeper had been excited to have a visitor from London, and she’d been nothing but cheerful since Frankie had arrived.

”You”re headed out already?” Mrs. Owens smoothed back her graying blonde hair that had been pinned meticulously to the back of her head. “Will you be joining us for dinner this evening? We”ll be having my famous meatloaf. It’s won awards at the county fair ten years in a row.”

“That sounds lovely, Mrs. Owens. I can’t wait to try it.” Frankie pointed at the large front door. ”Right now, I”m going to the ranger”s station. But I will be back no later than six o”clock.”

The squat woman waved a dismissing hand. ”Please call me Maysie, dear. And you be careful out there. We”re supposed to get weather soon, so don”t be gone too long.”

”I”ll be careful. Cheers, Mrs.—I mean Maysie,” Frankie corrected as she tossed a wave over her shoulder and hurried outside.

***

A tiny bell jingled overhead as Frankie muscled open the heavy green door and entered the small log structure. It had taken her over an hour to locate the tiny park ranger”s office, and that was after asking for directions three times. She”d learned the hard way that many of the small lumber roads that meandered through the area were really just rutted dirt paths through the thick, towering trees with few, if any, road signs. How anyone could navigate the area was beyond her.

She coughed lightly and waved at the puff of dust pluming around her, then blinked with a start and stumbled backwards, bumping into a small table as her eyes connected with a glassy stare from across the room. The dark amber beady eyes were buried deep in a coat of black fur and Frankie snickered at her initial reaction. She had never seen a black bear in the wild, and while this particular animal was stuffed and mounted on a large nature pedestal, it was the closest she had ever been to one. In fact, she fought the urge to walk over and pet it.

”That there is Cecil.”

Frankie nearly jumped out of her skin at the deep gravelly voice. ”Oh my god! You gave me quite a fright. I didn”t see you sitting there.”

The pudgy, uniformed man, who looked like he was planted behind an ancient wooden desk, pointed at the large bear, ignoring her comment. ”The bear, he”s Cecil. Wandered around these woods for years until he died of old age. The townsfolk took care of him for the most part.”

”Well.” Frankie held a hand to her chest. ”That”s… that”s a remarkable story, really. How old was he?”

”Bout twenty-five or so we reckon. One of the locals found him collapsed next to the lakeshore.” The ranger squinted his eyes. ”You”re not from around here,” he added accusingly.

”I”m not. Was it my accent that gave me away?” She teased as she clasped her hands at her waist to ward off the sudden wave of nervousness. Everyone had assured her that Americans were generally friendly, so this man”s blunt, acerbic manner took her back a bit. ”I”m from London. Just arrived this afternoon.”

He grunted, unimpressed. ”I”m Ranger Brooks. Can I help you?” His annoyed tone hinted that she did not belong there and was merely wasting his time.

”Oh, yes! Yes, you can.” Frankie strolled toward the desk, wincing as the wooden-planked floor creaked beneath her. ”My name is Frankie Evans and I”m from the British Arborist Society. We”re researching reforestation methods and were impressed with the success you”ve found in this part of northern Wisconsin over the last century,” she babbled, uncomfortable under his stony gaze. When he didn”t respond, she continued, ”In fact, I”m looking for your conservator.”

The old ranger’s face was carved in stone, not a muscle moving. He said nothing, just gave a blank stare.

”I believe his name is John Robbins?” she offered, her shoulders hunching toward her ears.

She jumped when the ranger barked an obnoxiously loud laugh. His chair creaked in protest when he leaned back and slouched to the side, strangely resembling a lumpy, green potato. ”What do you want with Lumberjack John?”

She blinked; uncertain she’d heard the man correctly. ”I beg your pardon. Lumberjack who? I”m not familiar with that name.”

Ranger Brooks snorted. ”Not surprising with you being from across the pond and all. Lumberjack John. That”s what he”s called in these parts.” He smirked. ”The Robbins family has managed these forests for generations.”

”Exactly.” Frankie bobbed her head. ”That”s why I wish to speak with him. We”ve received a substantial grant that will go a long way in our reforestation efforts. His expertise would be extremely helpful.”

The ranger furrowed his brow and scratched his chin, eyes narrowing as he drawled, ”You know, I’m well versed in forestry management. And if I”m not mistaken, the climate in Wisconsin is night and day from England’s. John’s knowhow won’t amount to a hill of beans.”

Frankie blinked at the onslaught of metaphors draped in sarcasm and pulled in a reinforcing breath through her nose. Of course she knew all that. After all, she had a degree in environmental biochemistry for pity’s sake. But she wasn’t about to be brushed off so easily. ”I am aware of that, Ranger Brooks. But I would like to meet with him anyway.”

The ranger lifted a shoulder and sighed. ”Well, if you insist.” Frankie grimaced at the grating, metallic screech as the ranger swiveled in his chair and tore a rectangular sheet from an oversized pad, then swung back, plopping it on his desk with a loud smack.

Frankie stared at the large map of the Long Lake area. It was similar to ones she”d studied online before she”d left London.

”We”re right here,” he said in a slow tone that suggested she was less than competent, drawing a red ”X” at the bottom of the lake. He glanced up at her, making sure she was following along. ”Take this road that winds around the east side of Long Lake. You”ll go about four miles before you come to this bridge at the top of the lake. It goes over a creek that connects Long Lake to Mud Lake. The cutoff to his cabin is just after it on the left, no more than a quarter of a mile. It”s difficult to spot, so don”t go too fast. It”s a little dirt road that trails along the west side of the lake for a couple of miles. The cabin will appear almost out of nowhere. You can”t miss it.”

Frankie bit back a groan.

Another bloody dirt road?

It was almost certain that she would miss it. She”d gotten lost so many times just trying to find this ranger station, she figured it would take a miracle to locate Mr. Robbins with these vague directions. But she”d find him—she had to. ”I”ll be careful. Thank you so much for your help.”

”You”re not planning to go up there right now, are you? We have weather moving in. Should hit in thirty minutes or so, maybe sooner according to the weather radio.”

”I”m from England, Ranger Brooks. I”m not afraid of a little rain,” Frankie responded, offhandedly. Her mind was already tracing the route around the lake.

”Well, respectfully ma”am, this will be more than just a little rain. It”s a cold front dipping down from Canada. They estimate we”ll get up to three inches of rain, maybe more, before it ices over. Just depends on how fast the temperature drops. Then it”ll turn to snow. Plus, it”s almost four o”clock. It”ll be dark in a couple of hours. Trust me, you haven’t experienced darkness until you drive around here at night. You should wait until tomorrow or even the next day until this front has moved through and the roads have been cleared.” Worry played over the old ranger’s face and, for a second, Frankie almost believed he was actually concerned for her. More likely, he was more worried about having to rescue her if she ran into any trouble.

“Not to worry,” she answered with confidence. “I’ll find Mr. Robbins, ask a few questions, and then be on my way back to town. Thank you again for your help.” She pivoted and with one last glance at Cecil, whose flat stare followed her progress, heaved open the old oak door that led out of the station.

A cold blast of air hit, making her shiver. The temperature must have dropped by at least ten degrees in the short time she’d been inside. But Frankie pressed on.

I’ll meet with Mr. Robbins. Ask some questions, and then get back to the inn. I can do this.